


Homecoming

by icygrace



Series: Reezy Knows Best [5]
Category: Olympics RPF, Sports RPF, Swimming RPF
Genre: Future Fic, Humor/Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, family fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-09 23:54:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icygrace/pseuds/icygrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We can get his license plate number and Carrie Underwood his car in the parking lot."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

We can get his license plate number and Carrie Underwood his car in the parking lot.”

“MP –”

“Where does he live?”

“Mike –”

“Wait. He’s on the football team! We’ll wait for him after practice on Monday and then –”

“Michael –”

“We’ll kill him,” Michael swears.

“MICHAEL FRED!” It’s one thing to prank the kid. He’d be down for that. But murder? Is a whole different ball game. And he might kid, but Michael almost never jokes when it comes to their kids. He’s a crazy fucker like that.

“What? That little dickwad fucked over –”

“Mike, I _know_. But, like, I don’t even care. I’d totally do it if we knew we weren’t gonna get caught. But if we did? Like, prison. And she’d be totally embarrassed.”

“Because obviously Lo being _embarrassed_ is the worst thing about us going to prison,” Michael snarks. And then he sighs. “So what do we do?”

“This isn’t . . . it’s a girl problem. We call The Women.”

“I don’t think our moms would be that helpful, so let’s just skip straight to our sisters.”

“I mean, nobody would’ve ever ditched Satan ‘cause she’s fucking terrifying. Meg’s the nice one, so maybe she –”

“I mean, Lo isn’t exactly a shrinking violet and we’ve . . . kind of got a reputation, so I doubt that little bastard did this lightly.” Michael sighs again.

“OK, but then what do we do?”

Kristin’s suggestions are along the same lines as Michael’s. So no. Tempting as it is, they’re not going to jail. The kids are still underage and nobody they know could actually handle them.

Megan says, “Find Lo another date; she’ll forget about that little jerk right away if you do that.”

Whitney thinks it might maybe – just maybe – be a good idea, “depending on where and how exactly you rustle one up. Maybe Oliver knows someone? But don’t do anything stupid or embarrassing. So don’t even think about it. No, wait, I know you two better than that. You’re already thinking about it. _Stop thinking about it_.”

But then Hilary says, “That would be _mortifying_ , don’t do that. She won’t want to go now.” She doesn’t. At all. “Have Oliver tell people she’s sick, food poisoning; it’ll sound more believable coming from him. Order in take-out or just . . . do whatever she wants at home. Getting stood up is the worst, so just be really nice. I can call later if you want, she’d probably rather vent to me, anyway.”

So many mixed signals, fuck. Next on the list: Missy and Elizabeth. Who might actually be able to do something. Maybe he and Missy can blackmail somebody from the PTA into making their kid go with Lo. Actually –

Michael hates it. “That’s exactly what Whit and Hilary said _not_ to do.”

“The thing is, if it’s blackmail, Lo won’t know and nobody else will ei–”

“That’s a terrible idea.”

“Missy won’t think so.”

\---

Except Missy _does_. She bursts out laughing. “Seriously, Ry? That’s awful. She’d never forgive you.”

“So you have any ideas, genius? Michael’s best idea’s killing the kid and our best bet’s Oliver telling people she’s home si–”

“Actually I do. I think . . . I think I have the solution to _all_ your problems.”

She sounds so calm and cheerful he’s suspicious. “What is it?”

“Guess who happens to know someone whose date actually _is_ home sick tonight?”

“Yeah, sure, _home sick_ is a convenient excuse to ditch this _someone_. Who’s probably a really shitty –”

“Don’t you dare, Ryan Lochte! Don’t you dare!”

Why the fuck is she so worked up? Whatever, he’ll humor her. “OK, so who’s this total catch who just happens to be magically free tonight?”

“Charlie.” She pauses. “I think I could convince –”

Ryan figures they’re sort of taking _all_ their sisters’ advice – except for Kristin’s because it’s fucking _dangerous_ – if they go with Missy’s idea. What could go wrong? He covers the mouthpiece and mouths “ _Charlie_.” Michael nods.

“We’ll even pay him.”

“A hundred,” Michael suggests.

“Two hundred,” Ryan offers instead when Missy doesn’t answer.

“Ryan –”

“Make it three,” Michael orders. “But Lo can never find out.”

“Duh, of course she can’t ever –”

“Lo can’t ever find out what?” Oliver pipes up out of nowhere.

Christ, when did he _get_ there?

“ _Nothing_ ,” they choke out at the same time.

“Who’s on the phone?”

“Nobody.”

“You’re not talking to _nobody_ , Pop.”

“Maybe I am. It could be somebody named Nobody,” Ryan retorts nonsensically before hanging up. _Sorry, MJ._

Michael rolls his eyes. “We’re figuring out Lo’s homecoming situation.”

“Wait – what?”

“We’re –”

“I heard you the first time.” Oliver mumbles something under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“No, I’m pretty sure it was something,” Michael insists.

“Maybe it was something about how normal dads would just let well enough alone?”

“Do we look like normal dads?” Ryan asks.

“I hope that was a rhetorical question, Pop.”

“A what?”

“A – Never mind.”

“So any ideas?”

“I . . . I guess she shouldn’t stay home tonight, ‘cause that would suck. But she was really pissed after the game, like all she said was _He fu_ – ” Oliver coughs. “ _Freaking ditched me for tonight!_ And then she drove off. I don’t know what we could do except –”

“Except?”

“I mean, I stopped by the cleaners closest to school, told them Chad’s car broke down and I was picking his suit up for him and were they the right cleaners ‘cause he hadn’t said and wasn’t picking up his phone. And they bought it. Hook, line and sinker. I had to pay for the cleaning, but it was totally worth it, ‘cause I took it out of the plastic and threw it in the swamp.”

“For once, I’m not even going to tell you off,” Michael tells Oliver, shaking his head before clapping him on the back. “Because I wanted to do worse.”

“Considering there was property damage or assault or murder involved, I’d say it was a lot worse, act–”

“I mean, the suit thing technically counts as property damage,” Oliver muses.

“Your dad wanted to go for that little turd’s _car_.”

“Oh! Why didn’t I think of –”

“Oliver _Wayne_ ,” they hiss at the same time.

“Hypocrites.”

“Dads’ privilege.” Jinx again.

“Anyway, I’m sure the cheerleaders can take care of it next game.”

The _cheerleaders_?

Their confusion must show on their faces because Oliver looks at them like they’re idiots. “Seriously, dads? They _look_ cute and harmless, but they’re scary as f–” Oliver coughs. “Anyway, what’s the plan? Cause you’re obviously scheming with _Nobody_.”

“Apparently Charlie’s date is home sick –”

“Yeah, she has mono.”

“ _Mono_?” Ryan turns back to the phone and punches Missy’s speed dial number. “Franklin! You forgot the part where your kid probably has mono, that’s pretty fucking crucial infor –”

“So you hang up on me after calling to ask for my help and THEN you call me back to yell at me about something that’s not even true?”

“So no mono?”

“Nope. Promise.”

“How do you know? I mean –”

“I mean, my understanding is it was supposed to be a platonic date, but you know how it goes, so since mono’s pretty contagious –” No shit, Sherlock. You share a fucking _drink_ , that’s all it takes. “Nathan had him checked out to be safe, because left untreated it could get complicated with swimming and everything, so you don’t –”

“Point please?”

“No mono.”

“Gimme a minute, Miss.” He turns to Michael again. “So what do we think?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Nobody asked you, Oliver.” Michael sounds annoyed.

“He said _we_.”

“He meant him and me. We’re the dads.”

“I’m the brother.”

“Doesn’t mean you get a say.”

“Like for serious, Dad? Pop asked if I had any –”

“We’re working on it.”

“You know it would suck if she stayed home while we’re all at homecoming and no way is she gonna go without a date, because like, that’s embarrassing, girls are catty bitch –”

“ _Oliver_ ,” they scold. And anyway, wasn’t he talking about how normal dads would leave well enough alone just a couple minutes ago? Contrary kid they have.

“About shit –”

“ _Oliver_.”

“Like that. And we’re not gonna find a better last-minute replacement. I mean, it’s _Charlie_. Totally better than some random fuck–”

“ _Oliver Wayne_!” The third time they’ve had to stop him swearing in the last _minute_ ; they’ve really gotta get his mouth under control.

“He’s got a point,” Michael admits grudgingly. “I mean, a few minutes ago we were willing to pay Charlie to take her.”

Ryan picks up his phone again. “OK, MJ. We’re in.”

“I mean, I have to talk to him first –”

“Make it happen. I don’t care how. I’m telling you, we’re willing to pay.”

“Lochte, you are _not_ treating my son like a call boy!”

“I mean, I’d rather he do it for free, like I don’t wanna . . . whatever-ify –”

“Objectify?”

“Yeah that too, but desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“I’ll see what I can do. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”

They wait. And wait. And then Michael says something about how a watched pot never boils – which sounds a lot like something Debbie would say. So Ryan turns his phone face down and turns on the TV after telling Oliver to go shower, because either way, _he’s_ going to homecoming.

“I mean, actually, if Charlie doesn’t work out – which, like, he better, or he’s gotta answer to me and it won’t be pretty . . .” Oliver sounds uncertain. “Maybe I should just like stay –”

But Ryan knows him too well. “That’s great you wanna be there for your sister, but like, we have your number, kid. You wanna go to homecoming. It’s fun. You like fun. And you’re not gonna do to your date what that Chad douche did to Lo, even if you’re not ditching her to go to with some other –”

“Clearly inferior,” Michael interrupts.

“Girl,” Ryan finishes. “Now, get.”

Oliver doesn’t move.

“In the shower.”

Kid still doesn’t move.

“Am I gonna have to carry you up there?”

Oliver rolls his eyes and gets up. “I mean, I’m not a girl, I don’t need that long to get ready, but if you insist.”

“We do.”

A couple minutes later, Ryan gets a text from Missy: It’s a go. Be there ASAP. Don’t say anything to Lo; we’ll take care of it when we get there! “Fuck jeah, it’s a go, Mikey!”

They bump fists, because seriously? Go Reezy and MPeezy, fixing homecoming crises, kicking ass and taking names at this dad business.

\---

“Taking care of it” means Charlie almost breaking one of their windows – Lo’s bedroom window – with rocks. To get Lo’s attention and ask her to homecoming properly.

Ryan doesn’t want to admit Missy’s got a point, but it _is_ a nice touch.

They even managed to find a better-than-decent corsage that doesn’t look totally out of place with the dress. Same goes for the flowers and Charlie’s tie. Points for MJ.

Which, speaking of the dress . . . he’s not sure Lo would’ve agreed to this new date without a little something extra, considering she was mad enough about being stood up that she threw the dress out the same window Charlie threw rocks ( _pebbles, Ryan, pebbles_ ) at – and into the tree branches outside it.

It isn’t easy getting that thing out of the tree, like they seriously consider telling Lo to wear something else because it’s her own fucking fault the dress’s stuck up there in the first place.

But Lo loved it when she went and bought it with Dalia, so they don’t really have a choice, do they?

The second they – he, because of course he lost _rock paper siccor_ – rescue the stupid rag, Missy snatches it up and runs upstairs to help Lo get ready.

\---

“So what do you think?” Lo asks with very un-Lo like shyness as she comes down the stairs.

He thinks to himself that The Missile should change her name to the Miracle Worker. Because she’s gotten it done with time to spare – before anybody else’s shown up, let alone the limo.

That’s good, because they need the time to stop blinking like idiots.

Jesus, _fuck_ , Lo just keeps growing up on them. Ryan thought it was bad at her Sweet 16 a couple months back – where he also found himself wondering when Oliver got so _well-spoken_ (as Debbie tearfully put it) and so _tall_ – but now, _God_.

On the one hand, the dress is way too short and low-cut and form-fitting. But it also brings out her eyes and she’s beaming and she just looks –

“Beautiful, right?” Missy prompts helpfully.

“Perfect,” Michael manages from his right.

“Daddy?”

“Took the words right out of my mouth.” He coughs. “The boys are outside; let’s get some pictures before everyone else shows up, yeah?”

He suddenly feels really relieved her date jumped ship. _Everyone_ knows football players are the horniest little jerks.

All’s well that ends well.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now for some quality time with MP.

Now for some quality time with MP.

They’ll kick back, drink some beers, watch the ball game. Just the two of them, thank God.

Because it wasn’t Lo throwing her pom-poms on the ground when she got home from the football game that made them think something was up. It was the sarcastic “Now we can watch the game tonight.” Which they sometimes do, because Michael’s somehow got the kids into _all_ his teams. Even in boring sports like baseball. 

OK, he’s maybe kind of learned to like it a little, if only because Michael made it worth his while. Mostly because it’s fun to rile him up by rooting for whichever team the Orioles are playing against. (As opposed to rooting against the Ravens, which is just . . . suicidal. The only time he had the nerve to do that was when Michael’s too far away to do anything about it.)

Not on homecoming night, though. 

But now everything’s fixed and they’ve got the house to themselves. 

Time to put the new couch to good use celebrating how much ass they’ve just kicked. 

He was thinking maybe the seventh-inning stretch because God knows Michael can be a little bitch if you interrupt _any_ game, but Mike’s got other ideas, if the hand that started at his neck at the top of the inning (the third) when the Yankees are at bat, trailed down his back after the first out and is now – two outs in – rubbing his hip means anything. But even if it feels good, well . . . now _he’s_ feeling a little bitchy. After all, who had to climb the tree? That’s right: him. 

“Watching the game.” He puts his hand over Michael’s to stop him. 

Ryan doesn’t turn his head to look – he keeps his eyes on the screen, tries his hardest to pay attention – but he _knows_ Michael’s pouting. 

Smith’s behind in the count – 0-1, 1-1 then 1-2. It’ll probably be a strike out. Once the inning’s over, Michael won’t be pouting for long, because Ryan’s only human. 

But Smith stays alive, works the count up to 3-2. When he finally bangs out a single after fouling off some crappy pitches, Michael mutters something that sounds suspiciously like, “ _He_ made it to first base.”

The Yankees are up by 3, so it’s not exactly a nail-biter, so . . . “Who says _you_ can’t?”

“You.” The pout makes Mike look more four than forty-four.

“Nope. I say we get on base whenever they do.”

“This your way of getting me to root against the Orioles?”

“Maybe,” Ryan says, running his thumb across the sliver of skin between Michael’s shirt and pants. He doesn’t _really_ care, but it’d probably make things more interesting if Michael thinks he does.

Michael frowns. “Might actually work.” 

“You know it w–” He might not be looking at the game anymore, but he can hear the commentary: a single for Grant. Grant on 1st, Smith on 2nd. He sweeps his hand under Michael’s shirt.

“We going by . . . Smith or Grant?” Michael asks after a little.

“Both,” Ryan decides, fisting his hand in Michael’s shirt to pull him closer for a kiss. It’s nice and easy, their tongues gliding effortlessly together till they’re so wrapped up in it they’re gasping for air.

Now that he’s pulled back a bit, Ryan takes a look at the game. A single for Martinez. Bases loaded. The guys have just gotten on, so Martinez must’ve given the pitcher a hell of a time, too. But he’s less interested in the details of the game and more interested in his husband. “Got some catching up to do,” Ryan announces before recapturing Michael’s mouth. 

Michael deepens the kiss pretty quickly before Ryan pushes him back against the couch pillows, breaking apart only long enough for them to yank their shirts off. 

The next time he comes up for air, he notices the Yankees are up by another two, apparently batting in runs like nobody’s business. 

“Falling behind,” he breathes against Michael’s neck as he grinds down against him. 

“You don’t say,” Michael grits out.

Ryan’s going to have to speed things up if they’re going to keep up, so he shoves down Michael’s sweats (surprise, surprise, no underwear) before pulling away and sitting back down on his thighs. Ryan wraps a hand around him, lightly – not that it takes much to make Michael moan, considering how long he’s been on edge, hips arching up in a silent plea for more. His eyes shut as Ryan works him, twisting and stroking just the way he likes.  

“God _yes_ ,” Michael groans, closing his eyes as he tips his head back. 

Which coincides with some cheers from the game that make Ryan throw a look at the TV, grip slackening.

For a split second too long. 

“Are you seriously still watching the fucking game? Like you don’t even like –”

“How else are we gonna know how far to go?”

“Are you kid–”

“3 runs batted in this inning.” He winks at Michael, who suddenly looks a lot less crabby.

“Can’t slack off.” 

“Absolutely not.”

Just then, Jamison grounds out. 

“Too bad.” 

“Nah, probably for the best. Nakamura’s probably pretty worked up, waiting to get back on the mound.” Nakamura’s the Yankees’ starting pitcher this game. He hopes Mike catches his drift. “‘S been a long fucking inning. Hard waiting so long.”

“Gotta get a move on then,” Michael smirks, pulling him closer and pressing up against him at the same time. He reaches between them to palm Ryan through his pants (fucking _tease_ ) before hooking his fingers into Ryan’s waistband and pulling down. Then peeling his underwear down. 

Not before wrapping a hand around Ryan and pumping him more quickly than he should if he wants to get cracking on those homers anytime soon. 

Good as it feels, Ryan pulls away, impatiently kicking and pulling his clothes the rest of the way off.   

But when he reaches down . . . fuck. 

The problem with a new couch is that the bottle hidden underneath? For times like this? Not there.

Oh well, he’ll just – 

“On the coffee table.” 

Lucky that Michael’s always prepared, but how the hell did he miss that?

Ryan’s neglected dick twitches as if to answer, so he quickly presses two slick fingers into Michael, who inhales sharply and closes his eyes. 

Michael moans and pushes back against Ryan’s hand when Ryan adds a third. “Just fuck me already,” he orders.

“So bossy, MP. What’s the magic word?” Ryan asks, wriggling his fingers like he usually does when he really wants to get Michael going.

“Uh – I – I love the Yankees?”

Points for Reezy. “Good for you. But I was thinking just one nice, easy –”

“ _Please_.”

With that, he removes his fingers and pushes in slow at first, relishing the feel of Michael around him, finally. “You feel so good. Like home.” Because it’s true. And because _baseball_.

Somehow, Michael has the presence of mind to roll his eyes at that. “You corny fucker.”

So obviously Ryan has to try harder. 

“Fuck yes, just like – oh.” Bingo. 

Ryan strokes Michael’s dick in time with his thrusts, falling deeper into a familiar rhythm, reducing Michael to half-strangled sounds as he hits just the right spot again and again.

He can tell Michael’s close, so he twists his hand the way he knows will push Michael over the brink, tightening around him as he comes. Ryan follows shortly after and collapses on top of him, panting. 

“More like a grand slam,” Michael laughs once he’s caught his breath.

So much for _corny fucker_.


End file.
